


Traces

by ralf



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Magnus Bane & Clary Fray Friendship, Past Character Death, listen idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf
Summary: “Hey Magnus,” Clary greets him. “I was wondering if...” She trails off.Something about her silence makes Magnus look up despite the potion that technically requires his undivided attention. Clary stands frozen in the middle of the main room, staring at the painting on the far wall, her mouth open in a smalloh. Magnus watches with dawning horror as her eyes start filling with tears.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Clary Fray
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	Traces

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly not really Shadowhunters-canon compliant. But I read about this on the TMI wiki at some point and I Had To. Anyway I'm pretty meh about this fic (it kept giving me so much hell i2tg) but I hope it's somewhat enjoyable still, feel free to lemme know what you thought.

“Seventeen... eighteen... nineteen...” Magnus counts under his breath when there's a knock at the door. “It's open,” he calls without taking his eyes off the pipet. “Twenty... twenty-one...”

He hears the door to the loft gliding open followed by that unmistakably determined gait all Shadowhunters seem to possess. For a moment he wonders if they all train and refine it at their academy. He makes a mental note to ask Alec later.

“Hey Magnus,” Clary greets him. “I was wondering if...” She trails off.

Something about her silence makes Magnus look up despite the potion that technically requires his undivided attention. Clary stands frozen in the middle of the main room, staring at the painting on the far wall, her mouth open in a small _oh_. Magnus watches with dawning horror as her eyes start filling with tears.

He throws a stasis spell on his brewing and is by her side with a few long strides, hovering helplessly for a moment before he gently settles his hand on her shoulder. “I take it you don't like my redecoration?” he carefully tries to lighten the mood.

Clary blinks, refocusing her wet gaze on him. “That painting,” she whispers, her voice cracked, “it's from my Mom.”

Magnus glances at the painting and spots a loopy signature in the bottom left corner. _J.F._

He curses inwardly. He didn't even notice when he poked through his storage room in search of decoration that matched his new dinner table. He wonders if he should magic the painting out of sight to spare Clary further anguish when she turns back towards it. A tear escapes her eye.

“I still remember her painting that picture. I loved the way she drew the sunset, with all those colors. They should clash, but somehow she made it work.”

“Your mother was a very talented woman,” Magnus says quietly, squeezing her shoulder.

Clary sniffs, then blinks. She frowns slightly, and then a realization dawns on her face. “It's you, isn't it?”

Magnus starts. “I'm what?” he asks even though he has a vague inkling what Clary might have just figured out.

“Mr Sparkle,” she says, confirming his hunch. “The elusive customer who bought tons of Mom's paintings.”

Magnus opens his mouth, then closes it again, because he can't exactly deny it.

Clary stares at him as if she's seeing him for the first time. “Whenever things got tight Mr Sparkle would go on a shopping spree.” She bites her lip. “That wasn't a coincidence, was it?”

“No,” Magnus admits.

Inexplicably Clary's eyes water again. Magnus's heart clenches and he can't help but pulls her into a hug. Clary hides her face in his shoulder, the tension in her back betraying her efforts to stay composed. It's a losing battle. Clary heaves a sob, her tiny frame shaking with it and Magnus pets her hair soothingly.

“Why? You didn't owe us anything.”

“True,” Magnus concedes. If anything they owed him. By helping Valentine's fugitive wife he did nothing but paint a huge target on his back. And yet he did it anyway, for different reasons. “But you needed the help.”

Clary takes a deep breath and draws back. She rubes under her eyes, wiping at the smeared makeup. Magnus clears it up for her with a wisp of magic, and a shaky smile froms on Clary's lips. “You've been looking out for us all this time. For me.”

“And I always will, Biscuit,” he promises.

Clary nods, grabbing his hand in wordless gratitude. She blinks again, her lashes suspiciously heavy, and turns around, a bit too abruptly to be entirely casual.

She takes in the painting and Magnus does, too.

It's a magnificent piece of art. It contains a multitude of colors, shades of lavender and orange and crimson, merging around a sun dipping on a dappled horizon line. It's one of Magnus's favorites, of all times.

“I'm glad that you have it,” Clary finally says. “It's a beautiful painting.”

Magnus squeezes her hand and Clary leans in, resting her head against his shoulder. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> ff: J.F.  
> my sister: J.F.K.  
> me: K.F.C.
> 
> anyway bye hahaha


End file.
